Supernatural: Practice Makes Perfect
by IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: Cas is in college, and Dean's teaching him how to play guitar. Of course, that's not all that Cas wants. See warnings inside.


**SUPERNATURAL**

**PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT**

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Pairing: **Castiel/Dean Winchester

**Note: **Based on a gif set on Tumblr

**Warnings: **Mild language, alternate universe

**Disclaimer: **Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

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><p>Castiel's apartment was kind of a shit hole. Sorry, <em>Cas' <em>apartment was kind of a shit hole. Dean had called him Casteel once, then Castiel, and had then actually taken a step back when bright, bright blue eyes met his own, and a very deep voice growled, 'It's _Cas_.'

Anyway, yeah; shit hole. The floors were bare wood, unpolished, and the walls a mix between bare brick and concrete. There were bars on the two windows- main room and bathroom- and the kitchen counter was cracked, the ceiling too, and there was just... crap in every corner; clothes, milk crates, beer bottles, and other things that Dean didn't want to look at.

Dean was sure that Cas lived this way on purpose; dude was a trust-fund kid, everyone in the country knew his family's name. The Novaks were at the top of everything; business, politics, law firms, they even owned stables and had an entire library named after them at the college Cas attended.

But Cas, well... he wasn't your typical Novak. Smart as all fuck, definitely, Dean knew that; he'd seen Cas' grades. But he dressed in ripped jeans and black. He wore more bracelets, chains, and make-up than half the girls Dean had dated, and his hair was dyed black, messy at all times, and there was always stubble on his face. So really, Cas kind of suited his apartment; or the apartment suited Cas, whatever.

Dean shook his head and looked over the back of the couch. There Cas was, like usual, either passed out or just asleep. Dean didn't care. He'd taken a whole three hours out of his day today to schedule a lesson in for Cas, and the fucker had fallen asleep as soon as Dean's back was turned. He'd needed to use the bathroom, he hadn't ben gone more than a minute, and Cas was _asleep_. While Cas would pay him anyway, Dean didn't like getting money for free. So Cas could wake the fuck up and actually _practice_.

With that firmly in mind, Dean stormed over to the corner where Cas' Gibson Les Paul Traditional was sitting propped against the concrete wall. It was brand new, probably cost Cas about three grand, but it was just _sitting _there. Dude needed to buy a fucking stand and a case. Dean grabbed the instrument and walked back over to the couch, where he promptly tossed the guitar- Cas clearly didn't care all that much about it- onto the sleeping teenager.

Castiel yelped and woke immediately, one arm wrapping around the neck of the guitar as he blinked rapidly. 'What the fuck?' he grunted, voice rougher than usual, and yawned.

'I told you to practice,' Dean growled, Cas' eyes finally on him, 'not sleep with the guitar.'

'Would you feel better if I say I was dreaming about you?' Cas questioned with a cheeky smile, finally sitting up.

'No,' Dean said. 'Go sit in the corner and practice for another two hours straight. No break.'

'If you want to spend more time with me, you only need to ask,' Cas said in amusement. But he stood anyway and stretched, the two shirts he was wearing riding up to show a sliver of skin and hipbone. Dean swallowed thickly. _Cas is nineteen, he's _nineteen_; too young for you, forget it._

'You're paying me to teach you,' Dean said, eyes meeting Cas'. Cas looked far too happy. 'So get in the corner and _learn_.'

'Yes, _sir_,' Cas practically purred, and Dean had to close his eyes and breathe, because _son of a bitch_.

Cas walked across the small living room- well, main room, really, seeing as how a double-bed was shoved into one corner- and sat on the wooden chair he usually used. He pulled the strap of the Les Paul over his head and started fiddling with the pegs and knobs, immediately undoing the tuning Dean had done earlier.

'Damn it, Cas!' Dean snapped and stomped over. Cas just looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes (which Dean didn't believe for a minute) and handed the guitar over when Dean held a hand out.

Huffing in frustration, Dean sat on the one free seat near Cas- the other two, an armchair and stool, were covered in takeout boxes and clothing- and grabbed his electric tuner from his guitar bag.

Cas watched in silence as Dean plugged the Les Paul into Cas' amp, and then tuned the instrument. When he was done Dean scowled at the teenager and held the guitar out. 'Practice.'

'Yes, _sir_,' Cas repeated, of course putting emphasis on _sir_. Dean bit his lip to contain the shiver and ignored the way Cas' fingers brushed _slowly _over his own when he took back the instrument. Dean needed something to focus on, so pulled out his own guitar; an American Deluxe Stratocaster with a black chrome finish. Dean had saved _ages _to buy it. Not that it was _that _expensive- though at almost two grand, most people would consider it expensive- Dean just had a fair few bills to pay; he was still putting his kid brother through school, and Sammy's school shit was pricey.

It was a contrast to Cas' own; his Les Paul was larger, bulkier, and blue. It was a dark blue with a bit of black, and featured gold knobs with an off-white pickguard. Dean didn't know if Cas had bought it because he liked Gibson guitars- and they _were _pretty fucking awesome- or if he bought it just because it was expensive. And blue. Cas seemed to like the colour blue.

'Do you have a girlfriend?' Cas asked suddenly, and Dean sighed.

'You asked me that yesterday.'

'So?' the student shrugged. 'Could have met someone since then.'

'I don't make a habit of jumping into relationships with people I barely know,' Dean muttered. Sex? Yes, Dean jumped into sex. Relationships were different. Dean had learnt that from his last few.

'So you need to _know _someone before getting into a committed relationship,' Cas hummed. When Dean looked at him, Cas seemed thoughtful... with a large helping of that sarcastic/bitchy behaviour he seemed to thrive on. 'Interesting.'

'How?' Dean demanded.

'Just is,' Cas shrugged.

'Shut up and play,' Dean said.

Cas grinned, but his eyes went back to his instrument, so Dean counted it as a win.

For all of four seconds. 'What the hell are you doing?' he demanded.

'Playing a D?' Cas said.

'With four fingers?' Dean asked.

Cas blinked up at him. 'Does a D not require four fingers?'

'No!' Dean snapped. See, the thing was, Cas wasn't stupid. He also wasn't stupid when it came to music. He could sing, Dean had heard him a few times. He could also play piano, evident when Dean had run into him at a small bar, and Cas had decided to suddenly start playing the old, crappy piano in the corner. He could _also _play guitar; at least, he was advanced enough to know how to play a fucking D chord.

So he was screwing with Dean, clearly, but he wouldn't be Cas if he didn't screw with absolutely everybody around him. He stole from his friends, mostly loose change and cell phones, before giving them back the next day. He stepped on people's toes just so he could say, "Sorry, man", and clap them on the shoulder- why, Dean had no idea. He also flirted. A lot. With _everyone_. Dean didn't know if the kid was straight or gay or whatever the hell else was out there. He just wished that Cas would stop screwing with him. And flirting with him. It made it much, much harder to ignore how fucking _pretty _Cas was.

'Stop fucking around,' Dean growled, while Cas just continued to smile at him. Seriously, Dean had caught Cas smoking pot, popping pills, and making out with a dude all within the first two weeks of meeting him; Cas couldn't pull off innocence with _Dean_. 'Play a D.'

'I forget,' Cas pouted.

'No, you're being a bitch,' Dean retorted.

'Please show me again?' Cas asked, leaning so far forward in his seat that he was about to topple off. 'Pretty please?' Dean sighed. 'I promise to play for the next two hours straight.'

Dean sighed again but carefully put his guitar down and scooted forward. Cas grinned brightly, but Dean ignored it. _Focus on his hands_, Dean told himself. _His beautiful, sexy fucking hands. NOT HELPING! _Clearing his throat, Dean reached out, touching Cas' fingers with his own. 'Your index finger goes on the third string, second fret. Your middle finger goes on the first string, second fret. And your ring finger goes on the second string, third fret.' He placed Cas' fingers where they needed to go, easily bending each digit as he spoke. Cas grinned at him again when Dean leaned back.

'Thanks, Dean,' he said, then strummed with his black pick.

'No,' Dean groaned, rubbing his face. 'With a D chord you only play the first four strings!'

'_Oh_,' Cas gasped dramatically, 'like this?'

No, of course not like that. 'Cause, _again_, Cas was a little fucking bitch.

'No, like this,' Dean growled and strummed the strings himself, the notes sounding out perfectly.

'_Oh_,' Cas repeated and copied Dean, getting the chord perfect, of course. 'I see,' Cas said. He strummed a few more times before moving on, easily playing a G, a Cadd9, and D, and then an E minor. Dean grit his teeth, recognising _Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) _by Green Day; a song that most fans and beginner players learned how to play.

Bitch. Bitch, bitch, fucking little fucking _bitch_. Cas was gonna be the death of him, he really was.

'So, no girlfriend,' Cas repeated, playing softly without looking at the strings. He suddenly started picking, and Dean grit his teeth. _Bitch_.

'So?' Dean muttered.

'Hey, I'm practising,' Cas smirked at him.

'Yeah, you are,' Dean admitted. He wondered just how many more _lessons _Cas needed. He knew all of the basic chords, and only really had trouble with split chords, and could play almost all the scales. He knew how to change the strings and keep his instrument clean and functional. Really, what the hell was Dean doing here? 'Look, Cas,' Dean said and rubbed his face; this was something he'd been thinking about for a while, and it was time to man up.

'What?' Cas asked, perfectly pleasant.

'I don't think there's much more I can teach you,' Dean admitted.

There was a violent sound from the Les Paul, and Dean looked up to see the strings still vibrating, Cas' hand perched on the pickguard. 'What?' he demanded.

'There's not much more I can teach you,' Dean repeated. 'I mean, yeah, I can help with some of the scales, and you're still having trouble with split chords. But really, all of that you can work on on your own.'

'No I can't!' Cas snapped, and Dean blinked.

'What's with the attitude?' Dean asked, confused. Cas actually looked... worried, and flustered, which wasn't typical Cas behaviour. The dude was usually just calm and sarcastic all the time.

'I still need help!' Cas insisted, waving his right hand about. 'I still mix up E major and E minor, and I can't remember what a D chord is!' He pointed at his guitar, almost thrusting the thing out of his lap. 'You just saw it!'

'Cas, again, that's not really anything that I can personally help you with,' Dean said. 'You have chord books, and the internet; you can easily look that up.'

'But it's not the same!' Cas snapped.

'I'm _really _not needed here,' Dean said, '_you _don't need me. So save yourself some money, okay?'

'NO!' Cas half-shouted, and Dean's eyes widened in shock. Cas pulled his guitar strap from around his neck and set the instrument against the table- covered in various crap, like usual- throwing his pick atop it as he stood. 'No, I can't... I need more time!' Cas demanded.

'For what?' Dean asked.

'For... guitar playing,' Cas said and looked down, at the floor, then the wall, at anything but Dean.

Dean frowned. 'Cas, what's going on?'

'Nothing,' Cas huffed and folded his arms defensively over his chest.

'Cas,' Dean prodded.

'Nothing,' the teenager repeated.

'Fine,' Dean shrugged. He'd gone through this enough times with Sam; teenagers were weirdly defensive, Dean knew. He'd been one himself not that long ago. So instead of pushing, he stood, putting his guitar away and packing up his stuff. Cas started fidgeting behind him, getting more and more worried, before he finally grabbed Dean's arm and spun him around. 'What?' Dean demanded.

'I like you!' Cas blurted. And dear god, he was _blushing_. Dean could see a blush on Cas' cheeks.

And then his words actually registered.

'What?'

Cas scowled and dropped Dean's arm, folding his own over his chest once more. 'I _like _you,' he repeated.

Dean blinked. A few times. 'Like me?' he echoed. Cas scowled, but nodded. 'As in... _like _likeme?' he asked.

Cas rolled his eyes. 'What are we, in high school?'

'You're barely out of high school,' Dean retorted, making Cas glare again.

'I'm nineteen.'

'Too young for me,' Dean immediately responded.

'What?' Cas laughed. 'Dean, you're twenty-six.'

'Right,' Dean nodded. 'Too _old _for you.'

'How?' Cas asked. ''Cause last I checked, I was legal; have been for a while now. And, it's actually _not _illegal for two dudes to have sex anymore.' He paused. 'Well, not in this state.'

Dean didn't know if it was illegal in _any s_tate for two dudes to have sex, but America's laws were screwy. Dean barely knew half of them.

'Cas...' he tried, but the younger man held a hand up, waggling a finger.

'Dean, I will accept it if you say that you're not interested,' he said. 'However, you staring at my ass and my hips and pretty much every part of my body leads me to believe that you _are _sexually attracted to me.' Dean swallowed hard. Son of a bitch. 'I'll accept it if you say you just want sex, or if you just want to be friends. I _won't_ accept you saying that you're too old for me. You're seven years older; that's not a very big age gap.'

'But-'

'_I_,' Cas interrupted, ignoring Dean's glare, 'think that you _do _like me. I think that you want to kiss me.' He moved closer, and Dean gulped. 'I think you want to fuck me,' Cas said, grinning when Dean's eyes dropped to his crotch- and those damn hips- before trailing back up again. 'I think that you really, _really_ want to fuck me,' Cas repeated, his voice lowering, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. 'If you can't tell me a good reason- a _very _good reason- as to why that can't happen, then I'm gonna kiss you.'

He was still moving closer, and Dean was frozen, guitar case still in his hand. He had no idea what to do or say, 'cause Cas had said _fuck me_ and he was freakin' hot and... great, the teenager was licking his lips, now, just _great_.

'I...' Dean tried, but nothing else came out. Cas was before him now, had stopped moving, and their chests were almost touching. 'I...'

'You... what?' Cas hummed, voice so very, very low. His tongue peaked out, wetting full, pink lips that Dean wanted to bite. 'You wanna fuck me?'

Dean groaned.

'Though so,' Cas smirked. Bitch. 'Can I kiss you, or are you gonna run?'

There were _so _many reasons why that was a bad idea. Cas' age, despite what he said otherwise, the fact that Cas was in college, barely two years older than Sam, the fact that Cas was a _Novak _and did drugs and liked partying and hung out with people Dean wanted to strangle (girls included), and... and...

None of that made its way from Dean's brain to his mouth, so he just stood there, staring, as Cas inched that bit closer. They were finally touching, and Cas wrapped one arm around Dean's shoulders, tugging him forward, and _damn_, he was more muscular than he looked.

'Well?' Cas asked, breath blowing across Dean's face.

Dean blinked. Stared. Tried to remember all the very, very _good _reasons as to why this was a bad idea, and...

And.

Fuck it.

Dean kissed him.

Cas threw himself into the kiss, wrapping both arms around Dean's neck as he pried Dean's lips open, tongue darting out to lick against Dean's. Dean gripped Cas' hips, tugging him forward, pressing their bodies flush together and making Cas _moan_. Oh, yeah, Dean was never leaving, no fucking way. He was gonna strip Cas of his tight fitting clothes and fuck him into next week.

Dean had no idea how long they kissed for; long enough for his lips to swell, for his lungs to ache for breath. Long enough that his dick was now pressing against his boxers and jeans, an equal hardness coming from Cas' own.

'Do you still wanna leave?' Cas breathed when they broke apart; not going far, their lips still brushing, bodies still pressed together tightly.

'Do you have lube?' Dean retorted, and Cas chuckled.

'I can still pay you every time you come here, if you want,' Cas offered. 'Though we can practice sex positions instead.'

Dean groaned and thumped his head against Cas'. 'I'm not a prostitute.'

'You'd be in high demand if you were,' Cas commented, and Dean growled, squeezing the teenager's waist. 'Okay, okay; no payment,' Cas muttered. 'Should I get back to practising?' he asked, words mumbled against Dean's lips. 'We should practice this often,' Cas mumbled, 'a lot. Like, a _lot _lot.'

'Shut up,' Dean growled, more interested in fucking Cas' mouth than listening to him prattle.

'Practice makes perfect,' Cas retorted. 'Isn't that what you always tell me?'

Dean scowled and kissed him again. Cas, of course, just laughed and kissed back.

_Bitch_.

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><p>{THE END}<p>

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Based on a Tumblr gif set, 'cause I really can't help myself lately, it seems. The guitar I give Cas in the story is different to the one in the gifs; mainly because in the gif it's a bass guitar. Just go with it. Les Pauls are awesome.

Anywho, hope you enjoyed :)

Cheers,

{IBegToDreamAndDiffer}


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